Chapter Twelve
Sam woke up alone.
“Austin?” she murmured, but nobody answered. She looked around the bedroom, the bathroom, peered over the edge of the overhang down into the living room below. She didn’t hear him in the kitchen. She didn’t know where he was.
She opened his closet, scolding herself as she did so. She shouldn’t go through his things. But her clothes were downstairs in a tangle on the floor. The reminder sent heat coursing through her, mixed with a heavy dose of—no, not regret, she checked herself. Sadness.
Sadness that it all had to end.
She pulled on a button-down shirt of his that went to her thighs and found a pair of thick socks. She knew she looked ridiculous, but she liked the idea of making him laugh.
Wherever he was.
At least this wasn’t the equivalent of waking up in her hotel room and finding him gone. He wouldn’t peace out on her in his own place, right?
She used her fingers to make her hair semipresentable and padded downstairs. There was coffee in a pot, and she poured herself a mug. No Chloe, no Austin. She found her phone in her jeans pocket and picked up just enough signal to log in to her email. She sat at the kitchen table and tried to tackle the onslaught of work that had rolled in since she’d been gone. She had to admit the whole thing seemed to be running fine without her. But there were emails to respond to, deals to keep on top of, new clients to woo. Major clients didn’t like feeling they were paying an arm and a leg to be bounced around among subordinates. This was what Kane Enterprises was selling—the personalized touch.
Not the very personal touch she’d given Mr. Reede, but she’d come to Gold Mountain to give him the attention needed to see this sale go through. She’d had her night, and now it was time to face what she had to accomplish today.
Before she could think through how that was going to work, the front door opened and a very snowy German shepherd bounded through.
“Good girl, Chloe,” Austin cooed. “You tell those squirrels who’s boss.” Then he caught sight of Sam at the table. “Sorry.” He winced as Chloe shook the snow out of her fur right where Sam was sitting. “We try to do that outside, but it doesn’t always work.”
Sam laughed, shielding her phone. Chloe promptly stuck her nose in Sam’s lap, no doubt attracted to the scent of Austin’s shirt. Sam ruffled the scruff of her neck. “Did you have a good walk?” she asked the dog. “Did you terrorize the mean little squirrels?”
“Have you been up long?” Austin asked as he hung up his jacket and took off his boots.
“Maybe twenty minutes. I got some coffee.”
“I meant to leave a note that we were out. I guess I’m not so used to having company.”
The admission startled Sam. No girlfriends? Not even one-night stands?
She pushed the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to think about Austin with other women. She didn’t want to think of herself as a one-night thing.
When Austin rattled off options for breakfast, Sam knew she couldn’t transform into work mode just yet. “I make a mean French toast,” he said. “No Connor necessary.”
“I definitely think you should show off for me,” she said.
“Shit, now the pressure’s on.”
She stood and hooked her finger through his belt loop, pulling him toward her. Snow still clung to his lashes. She pictured him rolling around with the dog, racing her through the woods behind his house. The woods they wouldn’t be able to run in once Sam had her way, because they wouldn’t be his anymore.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think that, don’t think that. “I’m not wearing any panties under this shirt of yours,” she whispered. “If you make a girl a good breakfast, wonder what you’ll get in return?”
She meant to pull away—it was just a tease, she was only trying to play—but Austin had her pushed against the wall so quickly it took her breath away. He kissed her hard, his hands sliding up the bottom of the shirt, over her hips and her ass, along the inside of her thighs. He pressed his thumb to her clit, just hard enough to make her throb. Not hard enough to stop her from trying to press down.
“And what is it you want?” he panted in her ear. He flicked his other thumb over her nipples, hard and straining through her shirt. “Hmm?”
“Guess I should know not to tease a man in the morning,” Sam murmured, straining to get closer to him and relieve the ache he was making build between her thighs.
“You’re lucky I let you sleep in.”
Sam pictured him climbing on top of her, his cock throbbing, not waiting to take what he wanted from her. She knew he could feel her dampness in his hand. “You should have woken me up.”
“Next time I just might.” He brushed her clit. Her thighs clenched in response. That “next time” seemed to ring out between them.
“I was promised French toast,” she said with a squirm.
He pulled away so suddenly her whole body ached. “I know. I’d better feed you before I fuck you.”
Sam tilted her head back so it hit the wall and let out a sigh she felt all the way to her toes. Oh, God. She was in trouble.
“That’s what I thought last night,” she said, “but that wasn’t the order I wound up wanting.”
“Tough luck.” He kissed her nose. “I’m starving.”
He really did make good French toast, sprinkled with cinnamon and maple syrup from just over the border in Canada. She cut up strawberries and made more coffee and they sat at the table, Sam’s leg curling up the inside of Austin’s thigh.
“Where’d the recipe come from?” she asked. “I’m picturing childhood brunches, parents being all cute together… Do you have siblings?” She licked maple syrup off her fork. She knew she was being reckless, making things too personal, but the fact that this was ending today made it impossible not to soak up what she could.
She was surprised when Austin’s face darkened. But then the cloud was gone, so quickly she wondered if she’d made up the shadow she thought she’d seen. “Not so much from my parents as one of the things I picked up along the way.”
“So, an ex-girlfriend,” Sam concluded.
“Whatever, she was always too stingy with the cinnamon.” Austin rolled his eyes and slid a hand up Sam’s bare thigh.
“At least you got something good out of it.”
He shrugged. Her phone vibrated on the table. She never should have turned it on to check her messages. The momentary respite had been too good to last.
“Work?” Austin raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” she grumbled.
“Better than a boyfriend.”
Sam stared at him. “You think I’m cheating on someone with you?”
“No, but you haven’t really told me much about yourself. I don’t even know what you do.”
“I told you—sales.” Her palm felt slippery as she reached for the phone.
“Twenty-four seven? With a scary-sounding board?”
She shrugged. “That’s the job.” She glanced briefly at the text—Steven wanting to know when the meeting for today was set. At least he hadn’t typed the words “Mr. Reede,” but she put her phone facedown on the table anyway. “It’s not life or death, though. There’s nothing I have to deal with now.”
Couldn’t Steven wait? She wasn’t going to corner Austin while she was wearing nothing but his button-down shirt.
“What about you?” she asked, changing the subject. “What do you have to do today?”
“I’m not on ski patrol this morning.”
He said it casually, but Sam narrowed her eyes. “Is that usually the case? Or just a nice little coincidence?” She plucked a strawberry slice off his plate and popped it into her mouth.
“No need to concern yourself with the inner machinations of Gold Mountain staff.”
She laughed. “You were awfully cocky, thinking I was going to stay over.”
“You’re the one who brought your toothbrush.” He swatted her hand away from his plate where she was cleaning up the last of his breakfast. “I feel bad, though. You’re paying through the nose for that hotel room and you didn’t even use it.”
Sam shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just one night, and anyway”—she winked—“I’d say last night was better than sitting in bed by myself with pay-per-view.”
“Why watch it when you can live it.” His hand, her thigh. She spread her legs in the chair.
His lips tasted like syrup, and she teased him with her tongue. Her phone vibrated, and this time it didn’t stop. Goddammit, Steven had an uncanny sense of timing. Clearly since she hadn’t responded to his text within five and a half seconds, he’d decided to call.
“Do you have to get that?” Austin asked.
Sam wished she knew the answer to his question. Things must have been getting heated at the office if Steven was so intent on confirming the signing with Mr. Reede was going through. But how could she reassure him she was on top of it while Austin was sitting right there, talking about what they were doing that day?
“You don’t already have a lift ticket, do you?” he asked.
Sam shook her head.
“Okay, good. I don’t want you to waste it.”
A lift ticket? That was nothing. He had no idea how much she risked losing for him. Her phone vibrated again. God, Steven was pissed. Or worried. Or both. Mentally she told him to cool it and pressed ignore. “Even if I already did, Austin, you should know by now I’d blow it off for you.”
He shook his head. “Those tickets are so expensive, I’d never ask you to do that.”
She felt so guilty, her stomach ached. She couldn’t have said how much a ski patroller and racing coach made, but it clearly wasn’t enough to buy new gloves. Austin could have no clue that buying a lift ticket she didn’t use wouldn’t make a single difference in the life of Samantha Kane.
He told her he’d lend her some ski pants, and she was telling him okay, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to spend the morning together before he took her to her car and she finally came clean, when the phone vibrated again.
“Sales?” His eyebrow rose.
Her heart raced, torn between a fear of getting caught and a fear of what might happen if she actually blew Steven off and didn’t pick up.
But she simply shrugged and said, “Things are busy,” and Austin seemed to buy it.
“It’s funny,” he said as he stacked the dishes. “I was the one expecting all these calls today. I thought Kane Enterprises wouldn’t stop bugging me about setting up this meeting, but I haven’t heard a thing. Meanwhile you’re on vacation, sort of, and your office won’t leave you alone.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “Maybe we should trade.”
Sam snorted. Fuck if she knew what to say to that. “I’d make a terrible ski coach,” she declared.
“That’s not true, Amelia loved you.”
“Amelia loved not having to ski with a bloody nose.”
“Hey, that kid’s tough—don’t underestimate her. If that were a race day, she’d never have quit.”
“I never said she was a quitter,” Sam said. “But you do remember she’s in high school, right?”
“Age has nothing to do with it. Amelia’s got a shot to go far, and she’s going to.”
“And if something happens to her? You yourself said skiers know they could be injured any time.” Sam remembered what Amelia had said in the bathroom, how she didn’t have time for a boyfriend when all she did was ski. “What if she decides she wants to do something else with her life? What if this isn’t her plan?”
The look on Austin’s face made her realize she’d gone too far.
“I don’t want Amelia to shy away from what she can accomplish,” he said, his voice low, level, so serious it was almost cold. “It’s important she learns not to back down.”
Sam wanted to know if they were still talking about Amelia. But the subtext was clear: back off. Austin went to get the ski pants. The conversation was over.
Once upon a time, Sam had a plan for how her life and her career were going to progress. Then her father died, and everything changed. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been ready, that she’d thought there’d be more time before the inevitable came to pass. Her father didn’t wait until things were convenient for her to make her CEO. He died during surgery—a risk, of course, but they were in the risk business. No matter how much they’d calculated the odds, she’d never really expected it would be like that, so final, his heart beating and then not.
Obviously Austin knew there was no such thing as plans. He’d had to remake his life, too. Only instead of realizing nothing was set, he’d gone in the opposite direction. Here was his star skier, and she was going to win. Here were his gloves, and he wasn’t going to replace them. Here was his property, and not a single tree could change.
Sam knew those things weren’t comparable, and yet watching Austin’s back as he left the kitchen, it sure felt like that. And she was the one who wanted to change his home, his town—hell, even his gloves. She was the one asking whether Amelia’s plans might someday change, asking whether Austin had too much wrapped up in a kid he’d convinced himself was going to make his own failed Olympic dreams come true.
It wasn’t a fight, exactly. But it wasn’t the note she wanted them to end on. It certainly wasn’t the way to segue into the sale. When Steven called again, she texted him Later and silenced her phone.